“Right on! I mean, yes, I think that sums it up in one neat package. Oh, hell!”
Ethbar caught the drift and smiled benignly at Carl before turning a more serious expression in Jeff’s direction.
“While we discerned some time ago that this group of courtiers was plotting to overthrow Imogo, the full extent of their treason was not revealed. The knowledge you and Carl brought goes far to explain clandestine travel to the south by their agents. Little doubt remains they are collaborating with the Salchek. We cannot move openly, since I judge Imogo unwilling to believe that his cousins would betray not only Rugen but also their own family. Still, you may rest assured they will die quickly and silently when it becomes necessary.”
“Imogo’s cousins. Should have suspected something like that from the beginning. May I assume they savor thoughts of the crown under Salchek rule?”
“Savor such thoughts, indeed, and quarrel among themselves over who shall wear it,” Rengeld replied with a disdainful snort. “Their kingdom will be less elevated and quite dark.”
The following morning, Jeff took Carl out to explore Rugen. He also had to purchase clothing and they spent the greater part of the day poking around in one shop or another. They were making their way home when Carl jumped out of the saddle with an exclamation and darted into a shop, leaving Sam free to roam.
Jeff had to capture Sam before he could find out what was so intriguing about the shop. Once inside, he found Carl in animated conversation with the store’s proprietor. The men were surrounded on all sides by an intricate cat’s cradle of tubing and retorts, some bubbling ominously.
“What a find!” Carl said to Jeff with an excited grin. “This place is a treasure trove. A bona fide alchemy! These guys spend their lives trying to convert base metals like lead to gold, and often blow themselves to shreds in the process. In earth’s history at least, they also stumbled across a wide range of potent chemicals but never realized the full worth of what they had. Man, am I going to have fun in here!”
“Would you mind telling me what it was they had?”
“Can’t say for sure at this point. I’ll tell you one thing, though—by the time you get back in the spring I will, and I think it’ll really be dynamite!”
That evening Jeff tried on his purchases to make sure they fit. Among the various items were a fur-lined hat that enclosed his entire head, heavy mittens and woolen undergarments. He would pick up winter boots and leggings at Valholm, as well as a fur coat.
Carl, meanwhile, was muttering over some sheets of parchment he had cadged from Ethbar. Jeff peered over his shoulder to get a better look. The top sheet was covered with chemical equations that might as well have been Greek. In fact, he concluded, they probably were.
Jeff and Ethbar were summoned to the palace the following morning. They were guided to the same room as before, and shortly thereafter were graced with Imogo’s presence. A faint smile played across his lips when he addressed Ethbar, but there was a hard edge about him that belied humor.
“Good counselor, we have concluded your strenuous urgings to take up arms have been well advised. We deem it timely to shake off the sloth of peace and set about preserving that which might be. We have dispatched riders to beholden duchies, announcing that all will gather in conclave three weeks hence. You may well guess to what ends.
“Captain Rengeld has served us with distinction, and we are aware you think well of him. He will be given new authority to recruit warriors. He will also be asked to determine the overall needs of the city in regards to its defense. A large responsibility, but one that we believe he will welcome.”
“He will do the task justice, Sire.”
“We suffer no doubts.” Imogo turned his attention to Jeff. “May I assume your northern intent remains fixed?”
“Yes, your Majesty. I will leave Rugen within the next day.”
“Your task is a worthy one but fraught with danger, both from the elements and our northern brethren. That which you have accomplished to date, however, leads us to conclude you will meet with success.”
Imogo gazed thoughtfully at Jeff for some time. While his cross-examination had been brutal, Jeff found Imogo’s steady, coal-black gaze to be equally unsettling. At a practical level, Jeff began to comprehend what he had studied so long and hard: kings were not to be trifled with. When Imogo’s gaze softened, the pressure was relieved as if an escape valve had been opened.
“We must also express our appreciation for your earlier efforts on behalf of Rugen. We greatly anticipate the caravan’s arrival from Astholf, and will greet such valuable allies with due ceremony. But now, what counsel would you offer that will further preparation of the city and surrounding countryside for the advent of Northmen?”
“Your Majesty, I will encourage them to assemble at the southern villages’ moot grounds. This lies at the meeting of the Farga and Vekka rivers, a safe distance from Rugen. Once game animals in that area are depleted, the northern warriors must be assured provender whether war ensues at once or a period of waiting must be endured. When battle nears, a camp must then be prepared in the forest north of Rugen.”
“This will be done. We also believe it wise to soothe our northern cousins’ penchant for bloodshed and rapine by insuring that adequate foodstuffs await them at the moot ground you have spoken of.”
“I am relieved, Majesty. Full stomachs will go far toward calming their violent tendencies.”
The remainder of the meeting was spent settling details. It broke up early enough to give Jeff time to complete stores. He double-checked everything one more time and took the rest of the evening off to be with his friends. The fire shed cheerful warmth, wine flowed, no word was spoken of the winter to come.
Walking to their rooms that night, Jeff stopped Carl in the hallway. “I borrowed some of your parchment to write a few letters to Zimma. I do not have enough skill with the local script to explain my heart, and have composed them in English. It is a terrible imposition, but would you work with Ethbar on a translation so that Zimma might read them?”
Carl had known Jeff too long to miss the stark fear in his words. “Nothing would please me greater.”
Embracing Jeff, Carl hurried into his room to avoid revealing his own fear. The odds against Jeff surviving the winter were overwhelming. Jeff had saved his life, but he could do nothing to improve those odds. It didn’t seem right.
The air was crisp and clear as Jeff tied equipment and purchases to the saddle. Cynic was ready to move out. When all was secure, he capered about at the end of the hackamore shooting plumes of vapor from his nostrils. Everything had been said and their parting was silent as Jeff clasped hands with his friends.
Chapter Sixteen
Go or No Go
Weeks fled in succession on the way north. They followed the road to what Jeff now thought of as Mirkwood Creek, and picked up the same path they had followed south. This time it wasn’t Jeff who was on the lookout for an elf or hobbit in the darker reaches of the forest.
Cynic tried to be coy about the whole thing, which only made his covert searching more obvious and amusing. That it was a horse doing the searching did not seem odd at all, prompting Jeff to reflect on all the changes that had taken place since leaving Earth. Life was so rich now. He could not bear the thought that it was likely to end this winter.
Leaving the deciduous forest behind, they followed the course of the Vana until reaching its origin at the confluence of the Farga and the Vekka. Fording the Vekka, they continued north. Fall was at hand and accelerated by their passage into higher latitudes. Under other circumstances Jeff would have reveled in the chill mornings and heavy warmth of noon. Leaves were beginning to hint at the riot of colors they would soon display, but he hardly noticed them.
Well into their second week on the trail, Jeff and Cynic had fallen back into the silence of old, solitary habits. Fine clothes left behind he wore the travel-worn leather pants and boots purchased in Khorgan. In addition, Jeff sported a new shi
rt made of homespun wool. Pulled low over his eyes was the same floppy leather hat, feather rumpled but still waving.
Several days out of Valholm, gray clouds rapidly obscured the morning sun. The temperature plummeted, and by late afternoon large snowflakes danced around them driven by a breeze that smelled of falling leaves. Jeff shivered while making camp, but not from the cold. Having earlier speculated that a period of glaciation was in retreat, he desperately hoped for a mild winter. That, he knew, was grasping at straws.
They ran across a hunter from Valholm packing a load of venison the next day. He greeted Jeff with great warmth, stirring Jeff to pick up the pace in anticipation of the reunion soon to come. They cantered into the village at dusk. Outposts had spotted them long before.
Cynic had to carefully pick his way to the meeting hall to avoid stepping on one or the other of a swarm of children. The crowd of adults pressing close to call out greetings further complicated the task. A number of musicians snatched the opportunity to perform, adding the sounds of fifes and drums to the uproar.
“Nice to be appreciated, eh buddy?”
Cynic stopped in front of the hall. “Considering what we have been through in their service, it is the least they could do.”
Chuckling at his mount’s comment, Jeff stepped from the saddle and into the crowd. They pushed into the hall with him as he searched for Halric and Gurthwin. While neither man was present, the evening meal was nearly ready and the crowd stayed on to get an early start at the beer barrels.
It wasn’t long before matters degenerated into a beer-swigging jamboree. Jeff moved from group to group pounding backs and being hammered in return. At one point he was slapped on the back at just the wrong instant and found himself bent over coughing violently trying to clear a swallow of beer from his lungs.
Halric showed up and shouted a degree of order into the mob before extending his own enthusiastic greetings. The evening was complete when Gurthwin arrived, grumping along as usual.
“It is most gratifying to see you again, Jeffrey. That much has transpired, and still more planned, is clearly written in your thoughts and fears. Do not be ashamed! Your task is large.”
Rough humor flew around the room like a summer thunderstorm, but Jeff’s return was at the center of most conversations. His alien clothing spurred endless speculation, prompting many to recall old ballads in search of information. There was no doubt he would be called on for a recitation, and Jeff pushed his tankard away. Villagers were still eating when the expected shouts for a tale grew to a continuous roar. Walking to the center of the hall, Jeff decided to lay it on thick.
When he described their pursuit by the hyenas, the villagers seethed with tension. Cynic’s heartbreaking dash across the flats had them on their feet shouting encouragement, then horror when he stumbled. By the time Jeff finished describing the battle, the hall was a madhouse of bellowed war songs and mugs crashing onto tables. It was impossible to continue, and Jeff took the opportunity to consider the next section. He decided to skip over it. Gurthwin caught his eye and shook his head.
“This has occurred. It must be related.”
“I am shamed to have killed a woman.”
“The shame lies in another world, the truth will be discovered in this one.”
Coming out of his thoughts, Jeff found the hall silently expectant. He soon lost himself in the battle to defend the caravan.
“…And so my sword did pierce her heart, and she fell to her knees at my feet with despairing cry. Then was I fully stricken with the horror of my deed. Yet still she lived and looked into my face with silent plea, asking that death not embrace her, for she was young and strong.”
Tears had come to Jeff’s eyes, and he looked away for a moment before continuing. “Yet again, what succor could I offer? What balm to ease death’s passage? My cries to the gods went unanswered, and her spirit departed.”
Closing his eyes, Jeff fought back a flood of guilt and new doubt. A bass voice pierced his memories, rumbling a sonorous chant. A soprano joined in, singing counterpoint. Then the hall was filled with solemn voices that ebbed and flowed through the Song for the Dead. Opening his eyes, Jeff gazed around the hall and saw many sympathetic expressions. None displayed blame.
Gurthwin held his tankard high. “To the dead. May her spirit find peace and a new home.”
Everyone dived for their tankards and roared out, “To the dead!”
Several rounds of beer later the crowd began settling onto their benches. Feeling a burden had been removed from his soul, Jeff emptied his tankard and picked up the story in Khorgan. The villagers fell silent, eyes wide and heads shaking at so many strange and wonderful things. Breaking into a smile, Jeff described his meeting with Zimma.
Bellowed laughter shook the hall, and a heavily muscled woman jumped to her feet. She grinned around before calling out, “But did you bed her, Jeffrey!”
A chorus of whistles and ground shaking stamping of feet set Jeff to laughing, and to blushing.
“Her temper reminds me of yours, Gerta, but I won through in the end.”
Roaring laughter and another warrior jumped up, staggered, and almost collapsed onto the table.
“You must tell us, Jeffrey—with which end did you succeed?”
Trumpeting laughter, Gerta pounded the man up alongside the head with a friendly blow that sent him to the floor. Grabbing a tankard, she saluted Jeff.
“One end is as good as another, eh Jeffrey?”
Face contorted with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes, Halric found his feet and eventually got everyone back in their seats.
Jeff moved on to Tradertown, his voice ominous as he described Arzaks. Knowing an enemy when they heard about one, a muttering rumble of growls and curses began to swell. Matters came to a head with his discovery of Carl in slavery and Zimma’s abduction.
At that point both Halric and Gurthwin had to intervene as calls for revenge and slaughter rebounded. Gerta and her sister, Ingid, were especially outraged. Ingid waved a battle-ax around in such a fashion that those nearby hit the deck. Halric persuaded them to sit down.
“My friends, this is a tale to be remembered, but let us hold our peace so that it may be told!”
His rush through town searching for Zimma had every soul on the edge of their seats. When Jeff described how he stood breathlessly listening behind the Arzak tent, the room became deathly still. What he saw when he cut his way into the tent led outrage and near riot to bloom anew in the crowd. His slaying of the commander and guards was greeted with shouts of approval and a favorite battle song.
Carl’s rescue and retreat to the shore had them off the benches once again and fingering weapons. He ended the recitation with his preparation for death, only to be saved at the last minute by Zimma and Belstan.
“…And so, brothers and sisters, I return to you through peril to warn of the Salchek invaders.”
The rest of the evening was a blur. Jeff drank far more than he should have and was forced to retell the goriest scenes many times. Later, Gerta and Ingid made it clear he was to stay with them. Gurthwin solved that problem by the simple expedient of taking Jeff by the arm and leaving.
Jeff spent a good share of the following day renewing old acquaintances. That evening he met with Halric and Gurthwin. Throughout the meeting, Jeff was repeatedly struck by the remarkable similarities he perceived in Ethbar and Gurthwin. If at all possible, he thought, I must arrange for them to meet. What a brain trust that would be!
By the time they had chewed his trip down to the bone, Gurthwin was deep in thought and Halric clearly troubled. Jeff emphasized the alliance with Rugen, but nothing could really soften the impact of imminent war.
Halric broke the silence first. “And so you must travel north and do what you may to gather the tribes by spring ere we are ground under the Salchek heel.”
“Yes. This must be done.”
“You must not bear this burden alone.” Gurthwin laid a gnarled hand on Jeff’s arm.
It was very comforting. “The courier from Rugen arrived, and his message was well received at the moot.”
“I am relieved to hear that,” Jeff said in a neutral tone. “He was not…uh, overcome with concern?”
Ethbar smiled at Jeff’s attempt to be tactful. “No, although it is fortunate that he called on your name early in the meeting.”
Now it was Halric’s turn to smile, and the three of them suddenly broke out in laughter. Ethbar wiped at a tear in his eye, and said, “Your Rengeld selected a fine young man, Jeffrey, and he regaled us with the full iron-shirt saga. I can tell you there was strong emotion present at the conclusion of his tale. Many wished to have a part in what is to come.
“Wonderful. A good start, then.”
“Yes indeed. Some among our kinfolk will be selected to visit southern tribes we are friendly with but who were not present at the moot.”
“I had hoped it would be so. I must venture north and west to those more distant peoples, where as an Alarai it is more likely that I will be welcomed.”
“I must think long on what we have learned this summer from the tribes who trekked south,” Halric commented. “Much was discussed, and may prove important to your journey. Many tribes we do not know were mentioned.”
The following days were busy as Jeff arranged for a winter coat, leggings and tall boots to be constructed. In between times he worked over the snowshoes and sewed up tears in his tent. It was looking ragged but still had a lot of use in it. Although Jeff really wanted to take the campstove, his last fuel bottle was nearly empty. On the chance it might come in handy to start fires, he tossed it on the pile to go.
The morning that Jeff was to ride out, a solemn crowd of villagers escorted him to the stable. Gurthwin took his arm along the way and spoke in a low voice.
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 32